“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. They turned the last corner, and almost immediately a man who had been standing there turned and struck Ennison a violent blow on the cheek. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. The general propositions of Socialism, for example, struck her as admirable, but she certainly did not extend her admiration to any of its exponents. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them.
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